Morning Star
by Cordylion
Summary: The snowstorm hit Izuku, icy and sharp, as he stepped out the hospital doors, the shock of it waking him to his situation. Sitting in bed with a bag-eyed policeman taking his statement had seemed a mute nightmare. But now reality regained its hold. All Might had fallen, and at last Izuku's Quirk had awakened. He'd always wanted a Quirk, but not – never like this.
1. I Can't Save You

_Author's Note: _There's something of a lack of MHA fanfics here that don't completely rehash canon, so I'm setting out to change that. I'll give you a fair warning that these first few chapters can be grim, but there's more of light/dark tonal balance when we get to the academy chapters. Feel free to skip ahead if it's not working for you, though I'd advise circling back later so you have context for everything!

Fun fact for those of you that like to puzzle things out: this is a For Want of a Nail type story, and although it initially seems like there are two Nails at play here, there's actually only one.

_MORNING STAR_

* * *

Chapter One: I Can't Save You_  
_

* * *

Something was wrong.

Izuku knew it the moment the news chime woke him. He jerked upright and squinted at the light spilling from his phone. The white intensity made his eyes water; he had to glance away, shivering with uncertain dread.

December cold clung to his naked shoulders, deepening his shivers as he sat in the dark. The hero figurines on his desk and shelves were unfamiliar in the moonlight, watching him with dead eyes.

_Stain killed the Silver Arrow last time I got an alert this late ... _

Slowly, his eyes adjusted and his cellphone's brightness dissolved into rows of kanji and katakana. He scanned them, reading quickly, and with a bone-deep chill the last sliver of his sleepiness vanished.

All Might was missing.

The alert itself was a lone sentence – _Might Tower confirms it has lost contact with #1 hero All Might for three days_ – but in a heartbeat he found active Twitter threads discussing the topic. They mirrored what Izuku felt within himself: worry, confusion, and the desperate need to know more.

He curled up beneath his blankets, skimming Twitter with increasing intensity, distantly aware of his own muttering. A statement from Might Tower claiming this wasn't unusual for pro-heroes, that they expected to hear from All Might before the end of the week. An insomniac journalist that had found five other instances of All Might going off the grid over the hero's career. Fans that had trawled the internet for All Might sightings and linked them to a crime report in Roppongi involving low-level villains.

All normal. No signs of emergency. No trace of anything amiss, save for the unease that coiled in Izuku's stomach.

"It's okay," he whispered. "Don't overthink it."

But he knew sleep wouldn't return tonight.

Izuku threw off his blankets and pulled on a ratty t-shirt. He stumbled over to his desk – wincing as he knocked over a misplaced All Might figurine – and flipped open his laptop. He had just begun reading about the known villains of Roppongi when he heard movement in the hall. The door creaked open, and a shadow fell over him. He looked up into the pale creases of his mom's face.

"Izuku? Why are you awake?"

"I – I don't know. I think something's happened to All Might."

He stepped away from his desk and hugged her to him. She hesitated, startled, before returning the hug. "Izuku?" she began, and then she stroked his hair, something she had not done for years.

"He's okay, right?" he said in a small voice. "Tell me he's not hurt."

She hugged him tighter. "It's All Might. You know how he is. He won't fail us, not when Japan needs him."

Izuku swallowed thickly, recognizing the lump gathering in his throat. _Don't cry_, he willed himself. Tears were childish, when tomorrow All Might would surely be giving a thumbs-up to cameras and smiling in a Santa hat and announcing his latest rescue. Yet still –

"You know how I arrived home late yesterday with frostnip and snow-coated clothes? I wasn't really studying in the library." He clenched her shirt in his fists, the words coming out faster. "I heard All Might had been sighted at Aldera Pond and I was hoping he'd show up again, so I waited there stupidly for hours while at the same time he could have – could have been walking into an ambush or bleeding out in a ditch!" He shuddered, and his next words were a muffled, "I'm so stupid."

"_Shh_. Please don't worry yourself sick, Izuku," his mom murmured. "We shouldn't be afraid, not as long as All Might is here. That's what you've always told me."

Izuku sniffled, and for a time they clung to each other in the dark. The whistle of a freight train echoed amid the winter night, forlorn. Then at last Inko Midoriya tilted his chin up to meet her gaze.

"I promise you it'll be all right."

And because his fourteen year-old self didn't know better, and because he wanted so badly to believe his mom's words, Izuku could never have been ready for what was to come.

–O–

Snowflakes whirled, wild and white, outside the frosted windows of the Midoriya household. It was a drear grey evening, but a quiet one – school was cancelled, and Izuku's routine of cowering from Kacchan's threats and the other students' jibing laughter had instead become a day curled up before the television. He sipped a mug of steaming hot chocolate as he watched the Daily Hero Bulletin.

_"Coming up next, we have guest panelist and pro-hero Ingenium to discuss All Might's eight day AWOL. Is it true that Endeavor was sent to Roppongi, and if so are the hero agencies more concerned than they let on? Find out when we –"_

The screen went black.

Izuku blinked, rubbing red-rimmed eyes. Slowly drifting out of his television-induced haze, he turned from the screen to frown at his mom.

The green-haired woman stood in the kitchen entryway, beneath hanging paper snowflakes that Izuku had crafted in school. Her lips were pursed in determination, and she clenched the remote tightly.

"I don't want to go play outside, Mom."

Inko Midoriya put her hands on her hips. "It's snowing! All the other boys are building snowmen and having snowball fights. It's not healthy for you to be cooped up in here watching the news all day."

_And if I tried to join in, that snowball fight would become seven-against-one._

He didn't voice the thought. Maybe if Kacchan hadn't mocked his lack of a Quirk, maybe if he hadn't attracted admirers and sycophants and lackeys that followed his example, the old wound would have scabbed over. But it hadn't. Easier not to say the words – _those neighborhood boys say Quirkless is a sugarcoated word for worthless_ – than to see the familiar shimmer in his mom's eyes as she tried not to tear up with guilt.

His thoughts returned to All Might, and he felt a knot in his throat. The pro-hero never missed a chance to beam at interviewers and proclaim that anyone had the potential to be a hero. Unlike Uwabami who said heroes needed to be photogenic, or Endeavor who glared and insisted powerful Quirks were a necessity, All Might, _the number one hero_, believed anyone could follow in his footsteps. Maybe even someone without a Quirk. Even someone with no charisma, and no friends.

Even Izuku.

_All Might ... Where are you?_

He swallowed and stared down at the carpet. "I can't go out. Not when All Might's still missing. What if – what if something happens?"

"I do wish I could make all this easier on you. It's why I've let you watched the news for as many hours as you have." Inko sighed and shook her head. "But you need a break. I won't force you to play with the neighbors, but you will get some fresh air. I have a package I need you to deliver to the post office."

Izuku glanced at the television's dark screen. The post office was on the other side of the city. He wouldn't be getting there and back in under an hour, not with rush hour commuters and holiday shoppers crowding the subways. Still, if he hurried he could catch the upcoming NKT interview with Endeavor on the investigation behind All Might's disappearance. That alone would be worth getting his TV privileges restored as soon as he could.

"I'll be back in a flash!" he said, running for the coat closet.

It wasn't long before he was trudging through the snow parallel to ice-slicked sidewalks, his red scarf fluttering in the wind as he blended with the evening street activity. Winter dark had deepened the shadows of the city's alleys and eaves, but on the main thoroughfare blue-and-silver string lights glowed from skeletal trees, illuminating passerby.

If Twitter and television were plunged into a media storm over All Might's disappearance, it wasn't visible here. Izuku was startled by how peaceful it felt to be one among the crowd, couldn't help but smile at the stray snowman clad in a cape, at the snowflakes that glittered in the night, at the laughter and clink of glasses from nearby restaurants.

He inhaled deeply, the frigid air in his lungs another reminder that there was a world outside stiff news anchors and hysterical headlines. The tense anxiety that coiled in his stomach was still there, but less tightly wound than it'd been before. On a night like this, it was hard to believe tomorrow wouldn't bring brighter tidings.

He followed the shuffle of the crowd down the subway steps, jostled by the throng of commuters taller and heavier than him. Suited men with briefcases and women in woolen peacoats. American tourists in All Might caps staring at the subway map with incomprehension – they always did – and a glowing blue woman. Izuku's fingers twitched for the notebook he didn't have, pondering the possible advantages of bioluminescence Quirks as he wound his way through the station.

He hopped on a second escalator. Down the levels he went, to the dim crowds of Platform Five, where there were no winds to carry stray snowflakes. With each step the mob of businessmen and shopping bags thickened, until he was swallowed in a teeming wall of people. Izuku faltered, lost in the din, but kept nudging and elbowing his way towards the tracks.

He had almost reached the edge of the platform when someone slammed into his side. Izuku yelped and stumbled forward. Grasped at empty air for balance. His feet slipped beneath him, and he crashed to the tiles in a sprawling heap. Commuters stepped past while he lay there, bruised and stunned. Scrapes stung on his palms but there was no blood. And the culprit had vanished.

Izuku groaned and stumbled back to his feet. Rush hour in Tokyo's Greater Metropolitan Area was infamously terrible, but the chaos of people around him was insane. The _trains_ were supposed to be an experiment in shoving as many humans into cans as possible, not the platforms!

He spotted an overhead sign, edging to the right of the man in front of him so he could read its scrolling letters. _Trains slowed to every half hour due to ice on tracks. Next arrival: 4 minutes._

Delays. _Crap._

Izuku sighed and craned his neck to glance around him. At least this was a decent opportunity for Quirk spotting. White swan wings blurred at the edge of his peripheral vision and he pivoted, trying to –

His cellphone buzzed in his pocket. Hundreds echoed it.

Izuku throat went dry. People surrounding him slowed; the crowd came to a standstill. In the sudden hush that fell over Platform Five he could hear the puff of his own breath.

Hundreds motionless. Hundreds staring at their cellphones with frozen expressions.

And that was when he knew.

Izuku felt his heart tighten, squeezing the air from his lungs. Icy sweat dripped down his brow and blood roared in his ears. His trembling fingers fumbled for his phone. Some isolated part of him realized he should breathe, should sit down first, but his building panic couldn't be stopped.

He knew, but he had to _see_.

On the third attempt he typed his PIN without mistakes. The lurid headline filled his screen:

_Symbol of Peace Killed by Unknown Villain; All Might's Body "in No State" to be Seen by Public_

Izuku stared.

Distantly he could feel himself beginning to hyperventilate. He wanted to stay composed and not break down, but nevertheless his heart was speeding up.

Memories rose to seize him. He could still remember the Father's Day card he'd crafted for All Might when he was ten and hadn't seen his real dad in years, could still remember Kacchan's mocking laughter.

Beside Izuku a woman collapsed to her knees, babbling hysterical nonsense.

He remembered hours spent on the hillsides of Eiyuu Park, fireflies winking in the summer nights, staring awestruck at the glittering tower of UA Academy. Daydreaming of walking its halls as All Might had before him and becoming a hero-in-training that could laugh off his bullies and protect hurt civilians and someday shake the hand of the number one hero and hear the words, _"I'm proud of you."_

Izuku was so gripped in memories that he missed the first uneasy murmurs that rippled through the crowd. People were dialing loved ones and parents were hugging their children. A toddler started wailing. Several more joined in.

No one expected the businessman to suddenly burst into flames. Screams echoed up as the fire spread, racing along jackets and shopping bags. Izuku stared dumbly at the embers floating above the crowd.

It was only a wild Quirk – the half-second mistake of a man in distress. It should have been handled calmly. It should have been zero concern.

But sanity snapped.

Chaos erupted all around. People bolted, thrashing and kicking in a desperate attempt to escape the subway station. The crowd roiled, and on the escalator people shrieked and gripped the rails to avoid plummeting off the edge. Everyone drowning in panic. Izuku's ears rang from the rising screams and sobs.

He was shaking, and he couldn't make himself stop.

Static on the intercom. A recording began to repeat itself: "_Ochitsuite kudasai_. Please remain calm. _Ochitsuite kudasai_. Please remain calm." It blended with the noisy pandemonium.

Izuku let out a choked laugh. Wiped his eyes on his sleeve and stumbled through the buffeting crowd. The train was approaching – he could hear its distant rattle – and he needed to be closer to the platform's edge when it arrived. Otherwise he didn't know if he could escape the stampede, not when his mind was a numb haze. He glanced up at the faces of the people churning all around him, their pupils blown with panic.

Wondered if he looked the same.

He darted toward a gap in the crowd as the pinprick of subway headlights appeared in the darkness. Somewhere behind him, others shouted at its approach. A hand shot out from the throng, grabbing his wrist and yanking him. Izuku tugged free but more people were pressing in. He shied away, fending off kicks and shoves, the blind savagery of those determined to board the train. Someone shoulder-checked him, and he stumbled forward, tripping on –

Izuku stopped. Windmilling at the precipice. The tracks gleamed cold steel beneath. Tugged at him. He tried to step back.

A final shove sent him off the edge.

Gravity yanked him down. He twisted in the free-fall, scarf whipping through the air. Smashed into the train tracks with a sickening _thwack_. Teeth bit down on his tongue. Reflexively he tried to struggle to his feet and then his leg exploded with pain. A white hot lance of agony shot straight to his stomach.

He collapsed onto the freezing rails once more, gasping profanities he'd heard from Kacchan.

The subway train was roaring, hurtling towards him; the tracks trembled with its fury. From the platform, it seemed much slower. Now, up close, it was horribly fast. A thundering silver monster that was too dizzying to watch. Wind ruffled him, soon to become a blast.

Heart pounding, he risked a glance at his leg. Immediately he wanted to retch. Torn jeans. Veiny gaping flesh. The white jut of bone. He cast his eyes downward to get away from the sight. Bright red drops dripped from his tongue.

_I'm getting blood on the tracks_, Izuku thought inanely, and then he was rolling over, his leg blossoming with renewed pain, fighting the steel rivets that had shredded and snagged his jacket, scrabbling forward light-headed while the tracks shook beneath him. He was too slow and the train was too fast. He dragged himself forward with his arms, blinded by the pain, clawing, aching for a way to pull himself to safety. Metal wheels shrieked against the rails. His broken leg refused to bend. He could feel himself screaming.

More screaming rose from the platform. Some poor schoolgirls had spotted him but were too caught in the roiling crowds to reach him in time. Their frenzied shouting incited more panic and stampeding, accompanied by shattering glass.

He was dying. Izuku squinted against the bright blurry headlights. The train streaked toward him in a blur, only ten meters left now, and he felt the roaring rattle in his bones, the screeching wind whipping at his face, watering his eyes with tears. Off in the distance, the screaming continued, sounding like a war. He should be glad he wouldn't be around to see it.

But despite it all a blazing desire to survive – _All Might deserves better_ – remained. And a strange, coiling heat in his gut that he wasn't sure was pain reflex or hallucination. He raised his hands in a futile defense against the oncoming train, a bloody grimace crossing his features. The heat intensified, throbbing now, and it couldn't be a hallucination, so all-consuming he could no longer feel his broken leg, building and building until –

Bright blossoming agony. The spotty edge of consciousness and the sensation of a single sinew in him that hadn't yet snapped. Izuku mentally reached for it and tore with a scream.

His sudden breathlessness hit him like a stab in the gut.

Izuku gasped –

– and then his senses expanded, exploded, becoming so intense that for a brief, false moment he thought he felt every tremor and particle and melting snowflake in the air before him. He shuddered, willing the train to stop, _anything_ so he wouldn't become a black-and-red smear on the rails.

Shimmering streaks of light appeared before Izuku's raised arms. They crystallized into a translucent wall, glowing with cold green fire from within. Izuku could only blink numbly in the ethereal radiance.

But blinding headlights filled his vision. The train crashed full-force into the shimmering air. _Kafwooom-schhhreee!_ An incandescent spray of sparks. He knelt there, shell-shocked, as the train crumpled like aluminum. Metal shrieked and groaned. Glass shards glittered in the air. Wind scoured outward, splattering everyone in Platform Five with condensation save Izuku. He reached out to touch the crystalline wall, dazed by the water droplets glistening on its surface, the smoldering wreckage beyond it, but he was too tired. Red and blue and gold pulses spotted his vision.

The wall disintegrated. Glimmering dust drifting on the wind.

And Izuku couldn't breathe.

His blood was on fire. His lungs burned. His limbs crumpled beneath him and his head drooped onto the rails. Nausea swept over him and every breath was like inhaling knives. He could hardly keep his eyes open with the fire that burned within.

_I'm alive_, he thought.

_I'm alive._

But how?

Streams of police officers stormed past in his peripheral vision. A grey-haired policewoman jumped onto the tracks. He reached out and brushed her ankle with his fingers. The woman recoiled in surprise – she must have assumed he was dead. He was trembling and his vision was blurred. Everyone was staring.

Hands seized him. Voices exclaimed and shook his shoulder. Checked his pulse. Then the police officers were all around, shouting and questioning him.

Their words washed over him. He couldn't understand any of it. It was all just sounds, dark and dizzy gibberish. Izuku tried to focus, but the people seemed so small and far away. And still he couldn't breathe ...

The intercom was all he could hear, words repeating to infinity. "_Ochitsuite kudasai._ Please remain calm."

Darkness swallowed him.

–O–

Morning. Lonely and dark.

Izuku woke on the starched sheets of a hospital bed with no recollection of how he got there. Arctic cold stole through his paper-thin gown, and his legs were wrapped in bandages, yet he felt only numbness. He twitched his left leg and waited for a spasm of pain. Nothing. The tang of oxycodone lingering in his mouth, and the prick on his wrist from a vanished IV were the only traces he'd ever been injured.

He huddled there in the shadows of his room, half expecting a doctor or nurse to materialize from nowhere. Wind howled. A distant door slammed shut. The silence was comatose thick.

Standing shakily, he padded barefoot towards the window. Watched the whirl of snow beyond as his breath steadied out. There was something hypnotic about snowstorms.

But behind Izuku's eyelids memories lurked. They were a distorted haze, muted save for surreally vivid flashes. Iridescent raindrops on a glassy barrier. A subway train hurtling out of the darkness. The news article on his phone, headline unreadable in his shaking hands. He could only grasp one thing. The rest – the rest was too much.

All Might was dead.

It was an unparsable thought, a blank mental wall from which he could derive no meaning. It wasn't something he could analyze, wasn't a hero-fact he could scribble down in _Hero Analysis for the Future No. 13_. It was just a sick refrain in the shadows of his mind: _dead, dead, dead._

Izuku never had the chance to ask All Might his question. The question he was too scared to ask Kacchan or his teachers or Mom. But maybe All Might, who believed in people, would –

No. He was dead.

There would be no answers.

The click-click of heels echoed from the hall corridor, shaking Izuku from his reverie. He stared hollow-eyed as a yawning woman strolled in the door, tired but looking pleased with herself. Platinum blonde hair swished as she walked. She couldn't be a nurse: her fluffy purple parka was too stylish, and her demeanor was too relaxed. But Izuku suspected she wasn't a civilian either.

"Wow, my bad. I meant to be here when you woke up, but the hospital's pastries are surprisingly tasty." She dug a smushed cranberry scone out of her pocket, wrapped in cellophane. "Want one?"

Izuku tensed. Took a step backward.

Her self-satisfied smile faded. "Thought so. But I was hoping this would go easier for both of us." She sighed and flopped down on the hospital bed. Blew on a puff of platinum hair. "Sorry in advance, but I seriously don't know what I'm doing. I'm not trained for this – I've not even got a decent Quirk for it. The Hero Network's a mess right now."

Shivering in a window draft, Izuku crossed his arms. He wished the world would slow down. He hadn't – he still hadn't shed a tear. And yet reality kept crashing down without a minute to think.

"What?" His voice was thick. He cleared his throat. "Who are you?"

"I'm Yu Takeyama. Though as of yesterday I'm also the pro-hero Mt. Lady. It's strange. I wasn't supposed to debut until this spring, but after everything that ..." her voice wavered "... _happened_, things accelerated so fast." She exhaled. "Call me Yu. I've never cared for formalities, and I'm really glad I didn't have to meet you as a smear on the tracks yesterday. It would've made a bad first day even worse."

Izuku swallowed. His head felt fuzzy. "I – I don't understand. Why is a pro-hero in my room? Where's my mom?"

A shadow crossed Yu's face. "I've been posted here to ensure you don't hurt anyone, or yourself. Your Quirk stopped 500 tons of hurtling metal, and well ... it's not unusual for late bloomers to have manic breakdowns." She looked down and cleared her throat. "I wouldn't blame you, personally."

_What?_

"No, that c-can't be true. I know it's not." Izuku trembled. "I've been Quirkless all my life. Whoever told you otherwise was lying or mistaken. It's f-fricking stupid to think I could stop a subway train!"

His vision swam. Izuku gripped the windowsill to steady himself. _This can't be real, this can't be real, thiscan'tbereal –_

"The doctors are reviewing your blood results to confirm," Yu said. "Your mom wanted me to tell you that she loves you, and that she'll be with you as soon as the hospital permits it."

Izuku squeezed his eyes shut. Every since he was a child, he'd known there were two undeniable facts of life: he was a Quirkless nobody, and All Might always won. A dark December day couldn't obliterate both like it was nothing. It wasn't fair. Being an All Might fanboy, hating his own Quirklessness, that was _him_. Strip it away and how much of Izuku Midoriya was left? He felt naked cold.

"You okay?"

He realized he'd somehow ended up huddled on the floor, hugging his knees. Breathing. Staring intensely at nothing.

"Midoriya?"

He took a deep shuddering breath, and his eyes found focus on Yu. "I'm ... fine." He stood on unsteady legs and stumbled over to the hospital bed. Yu sat next to him. He let her put an arm over his shoulder.

He said he was fine, but he felt like crying. He stared ahead numbly. A column of snow blew past the window. Snowflakes whipped against the clouded glass.

Yu was glancing at him, eyes full of concern. "It's not just the Quirk that's bothering you, is it?" She turned away to stare out at the blizzard. "I miss him too."

"I never wanted a Quirk this way. I just wish yesterday wasn't real," he whispered. "I'm sorry, I wasn't doing it for attention, to think I h-hurt people in a time of –"

"_Don't._ Don't apologize for things out of your control. Everything that happened, every injured person from that train, the crime spike that all Japan now faces, is the fault of that bastard that killed All Might. Don't you dare repent on his behalf. Got it?" Yu said. Her voice cracked.

Izuku stared down at his hands. Swallowed. _I never imagined I'd injure others with my own Quirk. But ..._

"Is the villain ... still out there?"

Yu's grip on his shoulder tightened. But she said nothing.

"Please," he whispered.

"I'm a shitty liar, so I won't sugarcoat it," she said at last. "The official story is that All Might's killer was an unknown villain that died alongside him. But to me that narrative sounds too clean. I don't know, even if I trusted the bastard was dead, I wouldn't believe he was working alone." She stared up at the ceiling, blinking rapidly. "It'd take more than one common criminal to kill the Symbol of Peace, yeah?"

And for the first time he could remember, Izuku didn't want to hear more. He had no follow-up questions. No half-concocted theories or rambled mutterings. He could only shudder and press his face into her shoulder.

He'd heard what mattered.

"It'll still be a few hours before the doctors have your results," Yu said quietly. "I'm not supposed to leave you by yourself, but is there anything you'd want me to do? I could tell you stories about studying abroad in Paris, or I could let you sleep, or we could watch videos on my phone ..."

Izuku shook his head. "I just need quiet. Words are no good."

Listlessly, he stared out the window as dawn suffused the blizzard in a pink glow and snowflakes continued their dance on the wind. Ice crystals on the glass glittered with their own frigid light. He remained motionless for a long time.

But still he couldn't cry.

–O–

The cold hit Izuku, icy and sharp, as he stepped out the hospital doors, the shock of it waking him to the truth of his situation. Sitting in a hospital bed with a bag-eyed policeman taking his statement, nurses poking him and jotting notes, had been so outside his experience that it seemed a mute nightmare. Out here in the freezing snow bitter reality regained its hold. He could see little but the back of his mom hunched ahead of him, and to either side, almost lost in the snowstorm, the grey shapes of the coughing and sickly huddled in their winter coats. Snowflakes burned his arms where the fall had skinned them. He shivered and doubled his speed to catch up to his mom.

The tail lights of her dented Toyota Aqua flashed red in the parking lot, buried in snow. Inko hated to drive but didn't have the heart to rid herself of the car when his dad went missing. Nowadays Izuku only saw it in emergencies.

He helped her wipe snow off the windshield and felt solaced, somehow, but its soaking cold touch. It reminded him there was more to the world than numbness.

They got in the car. His mom's hand shook too hard to put the key in the ignition. "Shit," she whispered. Izuku steadied her hand and guided the key in. His mom rested her forehead on the steering wheel.

"I'm okay, Mom," he said.

Her shoulders shook with silent sobs.

The drive home was somber. Izuku normally liked to tinker with the radio dial, but he knew there would be more newscasts than music on today. Instead he slumped against his seat and stared at the passing scenery. The Christmas trees in residential windows, gleaming with red-and-gold baubles. Grim men in parkas shoveling driveways. Traffic driving at a crawl through the snow-fog. The click of the turn signal was rhythmic in the quiet.

Izuku ducked his head as they passed the Bakugo residence. He could see Kacchan on the sidewalk, his palms searing with white heat as he snarled at Masaru Bakugo. Izuku cringed and remembered how it felt to cower helpless against those explosions. The mocking laughter of his classmates. Kacchan's twisted sneer as he told Izuku to piss off. Would life be different if he knew Izuku had a Quirk?

Izuku dug his nails into his palms. No, that would just flare his ex-friend's temper. Like everything he tried.

By the time Izuku was unbuttoning his jacket in the foyer, he was dizzy from a cocktail of exhaustion and low blood sugar. He stumbled to the couch and sagged into it with a sigh. Listened to his mom light the stove in the kitchen. There was still so much unknown to him – the identity of All Might's killer, the nature of his own Quirk – but for now the familiarity relaxed his muscles.

Two days of unread _Asahi Shimbun_ were piled on the coffee table.

He flipped through them until he saw his middle school portrait on the eleventh page of this morning's paper. He was a brief footnote in a story about Yu. The headline read: _Pro-Hero Mt. Lady Makes Debut Amid Musutafu Subway Panic. Is the Next Generation Ready to Carry on All Might's Legacy? _

Izuku's hands trembled as he skimmed it. The article claimed Yu had rescued him from the train, the logistics of how a seventy foot woman would fit on a crowded subway platform left necessarily vague. He remembered how she had slipped him an autographed get-well card. Waved him goodbye with a watery smile. What burdens did she shoulder, debuting in the shadows cast by the fallen Symbol of Peace? He moved on to the next section of the newspaper. It was splashed with photographs of All Might throughout his career.

No. Not just the next section. The obituary.

The words blurred on the page. He tore it, crumpling the paper up and letting it flutter to the floor.

"Izuku?" his mom called from the kitchen.

He swallowed, willing his throat not to close up. _Not now. Just a few more minutes and you can fall apart in your bed. _He exhaled slowly. "Why isn't Katsuki in school?"

"It's been cancelled for the remainder of the week. With the ... sudden crime spike, and blizzards predicted to last into the weekend, the school district decided it would be wisest to take a break."

He shuffled to the hall. Maybe all the schoolboard members hoped things would get better if they waited. But the Golden Age was over, and All Might wasn't coming back. None of them could escape the darkening clouds over Japan.

"I'm going to bed," he called. "I'm not hungry."

He didn't wait for her response, disappearing into his room and locking the door. Froze at the sight of the _All Might: Age of Heroes!_ edition poster on his wall. The laptop screensaver of All Might rescuing a beagle. The Small Might collectible figurines adorning his desk and shelves. Their smiles seemed suddenly grotesque.

"Fuck," he whispered.

He grabbed a strewn notebook and hurtled it at his desk. The lamp teetered and shattered on the floor. But the little All Mights were still smiling at him. He crawled onto his bed and hugged his knees. His head was pounding. He took ragged gasps, heaving with dry sobs.

Now it was time to give in to grief.

But the tears wouldn't come. Grief was an act of resolution, something he couldn't yet feel. He clutched the stuffed dragon his dad had bought him at Oumagadoki Zoo just before he vanished, and stared out the window. But nothing happened. Perhaps because there was a little thing left unfinished, a vow of reckoning first whispered by a younger Izuku, the kind that could seal off emotion until its end.

So he held his stuffed dragon while the blizzard darkened, crystallizing the snow into moors of ice. In time a fragile calm settled over him.

Deep enough he slipped into dreams.

* * *

_... I don't hate All Might. He's a great character, but his death leads to so many interesting canon divergences. It's a sad necessity._

_I'd also like to note that Izuku's Quirk is far more versatile than we see in this chapter. You'll find out more in Chapter Two; I didn't want to overwhelm you guys with too much right out the gate._

_One of the things I'm looking forward to is utilizing the ripple effect to upgrade the story relevance of a few characters. Mt. Lady is just the first example. Who's your favorite underrated character? 90% of the MHA cast is stellar, and I want to do my best to give them all justice._

_Til next time!_


	2. Izuku in Shadow

.

* * *

Chapter Two: Izuku in Shadow

* * *

"Don't forget you have another appointment with Dr. Song after school."

Four days had elapsed. Four days of grey haze. Four days of staring in his algebra textbook and the clock slowly ticking onward. Four days of sleeping pills that deadened his dreams. And finally he had woken to Monday morning.

"I know," Izuku said.

His mom took a pot of boiled tea from the stove and turned to eye him. "I boxed some leftover katsudon for your lunch."

"Mhm."

She shook her head and poured tea into Izuku's mug. The black liquid wafted scents of caramel and raisin as it splashed against the rim. "If you start feeling panicky or sick, call me and I'll get you permission to leave early, okay? Don't force yourself to be at 100%."

Izuku grimaced as he reached for the steaming cup. "It's fine. I'll be fine." He sipped his tea dully.

He knew his eyes were red, and his hair was mussed, but despite the Triazolam he couldn't sleep through the fatigue. Blurry bright subway beams lurked behind his eyelids. If not for a dormant Quirk, he'd be a smeared paste of blood and bone.

_All Might and I could've had matching closed casket funerals_, he thought darkly.

He gulped the last of his tea and shrugged on a winter jacket. Slung his scuffed backpack over his shoulders. "I'm heading out. Love you."

"Izuku ..." Inko's face creased with worry. "The first train doesn't arrive for another hour."

"Doesn't matter. I'm riding my bike."

His mom stared at him. "It's December. You can't ride your bike."

Sometimes Izuku didn't understand her. Ice-slicked streets could bloody his palms or bruise his knees, but it couldn't kill him. He'd willingly endure the freezing temperatures if it meant avoiding a subway platform crowded with morning commuters.

He didn't hear what else his mom had to say because he walked out the door, unchained his bicycle, and pedaled hard, taking Marutamachi Street down to Sanjo to get to Fourth. He didn't want to pass Kacchan's house. Snow caked the sidewalks, but he rode on the street in the tracks left by passing cars. His breath fogged the air.

The moon hadn't yet set, spilling silver across snowdrifts which had taken on the hard glint of ice as Tokyo temperatures continued to plummet. Snowcapped pine trees showed as shadows against the Milky Way. The silent beauty of it unsettled him – he had forgotten everything outside that world of sorrow and screaming subways.

Izuku flew past sleeping neighborhoods wreathed in Christmas lights, past shivering students trudging to school. He reveled in the cold blistering his cheeks, in the fire in his lungs and panting breath. The moon sunk lower in the sky and he was one more morning away – one morning farther from All Might. Aldera Junior High loomed.

He studied in the library until minutes before the first bell, and slunk into classroom 2-B hoping Kacchan wouldn't jeer at him. The scattered desks and dark-uniformed students were washed in the overcast greys of a December morning, and if there was warmth to it, Izuku couldn't tell.

Warily, he edged towards his desk. Huddled students muttered about All Might's upcoming funeral at the National Hero Cemetery. Traded homework answers. But their chatter died as Izuku passed them.

He was once invisible. Izuku Midoriya, the Quirkless kid, the shadow, the afterthought. But now his classmates all stared at him. They giggled. They pointed and whispered.

_It's the newspaper article_, Izuku realized. His gawky yearbook photo and story of his "rescue" had been printed in the national papers for all their families to read. He slumped into his chair with a sigh. He could foresee the misery he'd endure in the weeks ahead, the jokes about Quirkless deadweights that fell in front of subways and wasted Mt. Lady's time. The Aldera rumor mill had a cruel streak.

Kacchan glanced up while his friends – Daisuke Kihara and Jun Takagi – snickered at a video on Takagi's phone. Locked eyes with him. Izuku didn't know how long they stared at each other, but the hatred burning in Kacchan's red eyes was undeniable. His ex-friend scowled, and Izuku swallowed, wishing they were four years-old again and catching fireflies in jars and staring wide-eyed at All Might's rescue footage.

_Do you miss those lighter days too?_ Izuku searched his ex-friend's face for signs of grief. But he no longer knew the bristling boy, couldn't decipher the subtle twitches in his expression.

Nothing in his life seemed to survive the shudder of time. All Might. His dad. The loyal friends he had as a child. They were once his universe, pillars he was certain would last forever. But those pillars had crumbled to dust, and Izuku was left lonelier and lonelier, with wounds that had scarred but never quite healed.

_Kacchan isn't gone though. Not yet._

Izuku inhaled shakily. "Kacchan, I – "

"Can it, Deku! I'll throw you in front of a subway myself if I have to listen to your whining," Kacchan snarled, explosive heat flaring in in palm. Takagi and Kihara blinked up from their video. "Why the fuck are _you_ the one still breathing?"

"I-I only wanted to ask if you were okay ..." Izuku croaked. He stared at the floor, his face hot. "I know how much you loved All Might."

Quick as a cobra, Kacchan lunged. "You – " He slammed Izuku against the wall, driving the air from his lungs. His face was a mask of rage. "You asking to get hurt or something, Deku?"

Izuku's breath rasped out of him, drying the words from his tongue.

"I don't want to hear your shit sympathies, and I'm sick of an ass-licking extra like you acting like you'll ever be in the same league as All Might! You're not my friend! _You never were_." Kacchan's lips curled in disgust as Izuku flinched. "Give up on the hero shit and disappear somewhere you don't make everyone want to slit their wrists."

Scoffing, Kacchan let go of him; Izuku collapsed to the floor. He let his head roll back against the wall as the other boy stalked back to his desk. Takagi and Kihara laughed and lightly cuffed Kacchan on the shoulder, cajoling him to watch their video. Their words were distorted garble in Izuku's ears.

_What if he's not wrong?_

Izuku shuddered at the thought. He exhaled, and it almost came out as a sob.

Takagi looked over. Izuku kept his face blank, but inside, his stomach roiled and heaved. He choked down the bile that rose up in his throat, held himself rigid to keep from shaking. _I'm sick of this too, Kacchan._

He squeezed his eyes shut. Counted backwards, wondering if he could turn everything around if he wished hard enough, but it was hopeless.

Some things couldn't be saved.

–O–

All Might's face stared at Izuku from the side of a building.

The man was four stories tall, his blue eyes staring down at him through the frost-laced window of Dr. Song's office. He had a proud grin and crinkles in his face that suggested he spent much of his life laughing. But it was his eyes, bright and hopeful, that held Izuku. All Might seemed to inhabit his mural, seemed alive within those eyes, and seemed to watch over him.

"... Midoriya? Did you hear me?"

Izuku's own eyes snapped back to Dr. Song. He grimaced. "Sorry."

The elderly Chinese man's features remained inscrutable. Dr. Song never frowned, never even raised his voice when Izuku argued with him. It was as if he existed on a separate plane of equations and genetic helixes – staring through Izuku instead of at him, a string of DNA sequences to contemplate rather than humanize.

In a strange sense Izuku was grateful for it. If he was legally mandated to endure Quirk counseling, if he had to suffer headaches in a waiting room of pudgy five year-olds and shrill mothers, then at least he was spared from saccharine sympathies and empty babble. These days he preferred to keep conversations clinical.

These days he preferred Triazolam to the waking world.

"That All Might mural _is_ eye-catching, considering it wasn't there yesterday," Dr. Song mused. "Someone must have painted it in the dark of night ... and teetering on a ladder in the snowstorm no less. But let's try to remain focused. I was asking if you'd completed the Quirk exercises I assigned during our last session."

"Oh. Yeah, they were easier than I thought they'd be." Izuku drew in a breath, and the air shimmered above his palm. "It's still ... surreal to see it for myself. Proof I really do have a Quirk."

The shimmering air glittered with streaks of silvery green light. Glowed with its own cold, internal fires. Its diameter measured no greater than a postcard – unimpressive on a technical level – yet nevertheless the sight sent a rush of cocktail ecstasy through Izuku's veins.

Sometimes that high could make him forget there was no Symbol of Peace, if only for a few heartbeats. Then he would notice his mom's chewed nails and remember her whispered calls about the Nikkei Index at the Tokyo Stock Exchange crashing to 13,609, or receive a mass text from his school about their upcoming villain evacuation drills.

Izuku was a self-admitted fanboy, but in the end no one was spared the shadows left in All Might's wake.

"Magnificent progress, Midoriya. The visual data from seeing your Quirk firsthand already lends more credence to my hypothesis," Dr. Song said.

Izuku blinked. "You mean when you said I might have a barrier Quirk? It is one of the more common Quirk subtypes ..."

Dr. Song held up a hand. "Hastening to conclusions is an unwise venture, and one I'd rather not indulge in. Based on the Quirk's visual indicators and your genetic history, I believe you indeed have a barrier Quirk, but there are some irregularities I can't dismiss."

"Irregularities?" Izuku's fingers twitched against the top button of his parka, suppressing a sudden spike of paranoia. The world seemed a broken mirror in the foggy days since All Might's death – a thousand shards of shattered glass that sliced and bled him as he tried to pick up the pieces. "What do you mean, irregularities?"

"No need to be on edge. There's nothing wrong with you; I only meant your Quirk is unique." The doctor paused, considering his next words. "I find it strange that you could stop a subway train the first time your Quirk manifested. Most barrier Quirks must be trained to their upper limits before they can endure that degree of force."

Izuku swallowed, remembering the silver-sharp glint of the subway seconds before it would've crushed him. "Lucky I don't have the typical barrier Quirk then."

"There's a second anomaly as well. I rarely see barriers that are ... airy enough to float above one's palm. That suggests you have an ability to manipulate your barriers in a way that isn't possible for standard variations within the subtype, like EMB7s and TRAB4s." Dr. Song shuffled through his medical charts. "I have some records from your childhood GP here. Your mother's Quirk is listed as Telekinesis, but I don't see any mention of your father."

Izuku's voice became bitter. "The GP you're talking about is Dr. Tsubasa. I don't know why he would've bothered to write down one Quirk but not the other. I do know he called me Quirkless even after he failed to find that vestigial toe joint in my x-rays. Said about 20% of Quirkless individuals don't have it – that I was one of the lucky few to lack a Quirk or a spare joint."

"He couldn't have known you had Delayed Trigger Syndrome," Dr. Song said. "Tragically, we lack the understanding necessary to detect it. The disorder is characterized by slow Quirk development, effectively making an individual's Quirk 'invisible' until the body reaches adolescence. Pro-hero Midnight is a well-publicized example, but the diagnosis is discouraged in medical circles, since it's statistically rare and risks giving Quirkless individuals false hope."

"Trust me, I know all about DTS," Izuku said wearily, thinking back to all the library shelves and genetic records and internet forums he'd scoured for Quirkless research, to the 30,000¥ medical textbooks he'd pleaded with his mom and dad to gift him for his birthday. "You don't need an official diagnosis to have false hope."

"Ah. Of course." A rare note of sympathy lingered in Dr. Song's voice.

Izuku stared out the window at the All Might mural. The snow was falling faster now, white feathered flakes that gathered on window sills and skeletal trees. He wondered what his younger self would have done if he'd known that within a decade his deepest dreams and darkest nightmares would all unfold. Maybe he wouldn't have been quite as obsessed with his studies, and instead cheered on his dad's shoulders at Kisiwada Danjiri parades, memorized the dark-haired man's rich laughter, his proud smiles whenever he introduced Izuku to his business friends.

"My dad's Quirk was named Ward. He could summon unbreakable barriers – though wards are what he called them – that remained so long as his concentration didn't slip," Izuku offered quietly. "From what you've told me, I'm thinking I have a telekinetic version of his Quirk, except with a different drawback. I haven't noticed a dependency on concentration."

"Unbreakable telekinetic wards, hmm? That would explain a great deal. We'll have to confirm that theory and draw up the paperwork for the registry in our next session." Dr. Song shifted his attention to scribbling notes. The appointment had come to its end.

Izuku stood. Buttoned his dark green parka and headed for the door. "I have to determine what my Quirk's main limitation is in the days to come – all Quirks have one. I won't understand my true capabilities until I figure that out."

"See that you do. In the meantime, also think about what you'd like to name that Quirk of yours. We'll need it for the registry."

Izuku's hand paused on the doorknob. "Dr. Song?"

The elderly man blinked up at him, pen halting mid-scribble.

"With my Quirk, do you think I could ..." Izuku grimaced, the words suddenly stuck in his throat. "Never mind." He pulled open the door, leaving the doctor behind for the shadows of the hall. Dozens of questions had been answered that evening, mysteries of subway crashes and DNA, and none of it quelled the sickness in his heart.

–O–

Katsuki Bakugo chalked an expression from their algebra homework on the blackboard, (6x + 8)(5x - 8). Five days after All Might's death, blizzard winds howled outside the classroom windows, and snowflakes whirled in the dark as they slowly suffocated the world in white. Izuku hunched at his desk, pencil in a pale-knuckled grip, praying for the lunch bell to ring and spare him from the sharp, scornful lecture of the boy he had once called a friend.

Grief cuts to the bone, but it has a way of carving out self-deception too, the lovely little lies people tell themselves to avoid new hurts while clinging to the old. Izuku had awoken that morning with an ice in his veins, a cold fury that – unknowing what to do with – he turned on himself. Cruel thoughts echoed in his head, the kind of knife-edged clarity that surfaces only when one's too drained for denial: _I'm a decade behind the others, there's zero chance U.A. would accept a deadweight like me._ Or, recalling the twisted ugliness on Kacchan's face yesterday:_ I was so pathetic for thinking he cares._

Kacchan slashed at the blackboard with his chalk, simplifying the algebra expression with irate strokes. He finished his chain of calculations and spun on his heel to glower at the class. "... and that's why any idiot would know this shit simplifies down to 30x squared minus 8x minus 64."

"That's correct. Excellent work as always, Bakugo," Yamauchi-Sensei said.

"Whatever." Kacchan stalked back to his desk, ignoring a high-five from Daisuke Kihara. Lately no one was an exception to his simmering rage – not Kihara and Takagi, not the school faculty, and obviously not Izuku. If Izuku hadn't waited amid the snowy arctic winds until the final bell this morning, he was certain Kacchan would've scorched and shredded his homework.

Yamauchi paged through his algebra textbook for another example problem, and in the lull, wind rattled the windows and whispers echoed. Izuku stiffened in his seat as he listened to the hushed comments.

" – solved that problem so fast! There's no justice in the world if one guy can get a badass Quirk _and_ all the brains."

"You think he's going to be the next All Might? I mean, someone's gotta fill the void and none of the current pros – "

"Obviously Mitsuru's way hotter than that girl in – "

" – good as All Might?"

Izuku scowled at the notebook on his desk, grinding the tip of his pencil into graphite dust. _Kacchan doesn't deserve to be the next All Might_, he thought viciously. He tried telling himself it was unfair to let his howling grief bleed into thoughts on Kacchan, but there was nothing fair about their one-sided relationship, was there?

_"Why the fuck are_ you _the one still breathing?"_

He knew dwelling on the raw hurt of those words was wrong, that he should pretend separation from the darkness that hissed in his ears. But it was harder and harder to muster empathy when he'd forgotten how to sleep without Triazolam and stared at his bag-eyed reflection in the mirror each morning.

Kacchan had told him to give up on his dreams. But it occurred to Izuku that he could give up on something else.

He didn't need to cheer with the rest of the class when Kacchan scored point after point in P.E. matches against 2-C, didn't need to take notes for him when he was missing from class, didn't need to admire him even as he ripped Izuku's homework and left him wiping away tears in a bathroom stall, hating himself for the wobble in his voice. Didn't need to hear him mock his Quirk and kill the little hope Izuku had left.

_I'm done trying,_ he thought._ I can't do it anymore._

For years now Izuku had believed many things about Katsuki Bakugo – that he had an amazing Quirk, that his inner fire was virtually unrivaled, that he'd blaze a path as the first U.A. student from Aldera. But he could no longer convince himself that deep down he was sorry.

The lunch bell chimed. Izuku watched his classmates scatter from their desks, gathering up spiral notebooks and algebra worksheets, keeping himself still so he didn't betray his thoughts. Laughter faded as students streamed from the classroom. Kacc – _Bakugo_ – was the final straggler, scowling at Izuku from the doorway as he left.

Izuku waited for the footsteps in the hallway to vanish, then made his own escape, ignoring the pang in his stomach as he took the stairs down to Aldera's west exit. Sacrificing lunch was necessary if he had a hope of attending U.A. He sighed and ducked out the door.

Snow slashed sideways, feathered ice falling like ghosts in the blizzard dark. Snowdrifts piled against the school walls, and amid gusts of snow Izuku glimpsed the million tiny lights of the metropolis – Tokyo and Musutafu and Yokohama glittering in the blackness. He was a lone silhouette in the winter howl, jacket billowing with the wind.

Izuku shivered. The blizzard soaked his clothes, cold enough to steal his breath. He crossed his arms, longing for the numbing heat inside yet unwilling to retreat. Snowflakes dusted his hair.

Finally he steeled himself. A ward formed in his mind – the ethereal power he sought to master. Izuku mentally held the ward, fixed it in time, and let it flow from his head to his hand, down his fingertips and into the air itself. The air shimmer flickered, then bloomed iridescent blues and greens as it crystallized into a ward.

Out here in the snowy dark, it reminded Izuku of an aurora.

Last night he had practiced as the clocks chimed the slipping hours, summoning wards over and over until he could will them forth without erratic wavering or fumbled discipline. The motions had become cathartic. Honing his Quirk couldn't change the tragedy of December 11th. But it made the grief bearable. It distracted him enough that tear tracks dried on his cheeks, and somehow he kept on walking.

Now he stood amid the snowstorm to test his abilities. He eyed the snow-lashed ward, frozen midair in spite of the whistling winds.

Izuku circled the ward contemplatively. Reaching out, he touched it as it glistened blue. Drew in a sharp breath at the glacial cold in his fingertips. He pressed his weight into the ward, and nearly stumbled as it drifted away, lighter than air. The ward froze again as soon as he ceased touching it.

_Seems I'm the only one that can move them._

Useful intel. He quieted thoughts of all the implications for later, resolving to document them in _Quirk Analysis For the Future No. 1_ during English.

Izuku waved a hand at the ward and watched it dissipate into glittering dust. Blizzard gales swirled the remains until they were lost in the black of the storm. He wiped snowflake-melt from his eyes and scanned the dark classroom windows, reassured that this wing of Aldera Junior High was emptied for lunch. The next Quirk experiment he had in mind could create a light show.

Years of hero analysis had taught Izuku that all Quirks possessed unique limitations. Sir Nighteye's Foresight could only be used once per day, whereas Endeavor's Hellflame could induce hyperthermia if he overextended himself. Izuku suspected his own Quirk had limitations akin to the latter hero – the dozens of wards he'd summoned yesterday proved he lacked a hard limit like Sir Nighteye. Summoning his wards wasn't free, but until he strained his Quirk the cost would remain a mystery.

Izuku inhaled deeply and closed his eyes. Formed a ward in his mind. A well-familiar ritual yet with a crucial difference: in his mental image, the crystalline wall thrust into the snow clouds of the heavens. Staggeringly vast.

With a dizzy rush the ward flowed from his fingers. For a fleeting, false moment the skies shimmered. Millions of swirling snowflakes glittered iridescent green.

Then Izuku felt his throat constrict, and the blizzard plunged back into darkness.

His blood was on fire. His breaths hurt. His lungs screamed the agony of someone hacking at them with a handsaw, and Izuku was choking, choking for air. He started to cough with panic, the coughs deepening to dry heaves.

Knees buckled beneath him. He curled up in the snow, still coughing, the ice stinging feverish skin. Sucked air – every breath a sweet mercy. At long last the agony stopped. His ribs ached.

He lay on his side, staring motionless at the silent snowfall. His mind raced through possibilities. The pain evoked blurred memories of smoking subway wreckage and the awakening of his Quirk. On that day he'd blacked out ...

"Oxygen," Izuku whispered. "Using the wards costs oxygen."

Relief flooded him. Though he lacked the oxygen to sustain the sky-piercer ward for longer than a second, the weakness didn't overshadow his Quirk's potential. He exhaled slowly, overcome with disbelief.

Deep down Izuku had never trusted his Quirk was hero worthy. Hadn't dared. He'd armored himself in cynicism, resigning himself to the crippling weaknesses that inevitably lurked just beyond his knowledge. Immobility, IQ loss, draining his lifespan – visions of the worst had danced behind his eyelids. To dream otherwise was hope, and it was far saner to choose cynicism that a hope long dead.

But now Izuku felt his heart beat faster. An ember of hope stirred in his chest.

He just prayed that ember wouldn't blacken to ash.

–O–

TV talk droned through the walls.

Izuku slumped over his bowl of beef-and-onion donburi, unable to tune out the NKT reporters' voices as they drifted to the dinner table. He sighed and glanced at the blizzard dark out their window, but all he could see was his own reflection in the candlelight. His mom plucked at her rice with chopsticks.

"Can't we turn it off?" he asked. "It's depressing ..."

Inko shook her head. "You know I feel safer with the news on. Just the other day a woman was assaulted on Sanjo Street. If there's villains roaming the neighborhood I don't want to be caught unawares."

Izuku grimaced and set down his chopsticks, a coin-sized ward flickering into existence at his fingertips. Absently, he fiddled with it, tossing the ward into the air and willing it to freeze midmotion. The recently developed habit soothed his nerves.

He half-listened to the somber narration of the nightly news. The Daily Hero Bulletin and NKT Network and Tokyo FM had all devoted their air time to wall-to-wall All Might tributes. But it wasn't just them. Present Mic had foregone his music hour in favor of a _Forever #1 in Our Memories_ special where All Might's former U.A. classmates told cherished school stories; Daikaku Miyagi solemnly held heart-to-hearts with Best Jeanist and Ryukyu on his cable show, both heroes wearing spangled gold ribbons pinned to their chests; the Hero Public Safety Commission declared that the next Billboard Chart JP announcement would be held live as the first public ranking ceremony in history.

And amid the memorials, grim-faced reporters told of nationwide crime spikes. Eulogizing the Golden Age. Dreading the Fallen Age that dawned upon them.

Izuku was once a news addict, listening to the Flaming Sidekickers' podcast in the mornings and refreshing Twitter for minute-to-minute updates at school. In dark nights of solitude he'd finish homework while sprawled in front of the television. But these days it was too much for him. He didn't understand how his mom could suffer it without prickling tears of rage.

He felt if he watched too long, the tsunami crash of Japan's grief would drown him.

_"... Might Tower clarified that although the funeral will be a private ceremony for All Might's friends and colleagues, the eulogy will be streamed live to the nation."_ Lonely dog howls drifted from the television, and Izuku guessed the reporter was at the National Hero Cemetery. _"Later that evening, thousands of candlelight vigils are expected to ... Hold, what was that? We've just received breaking news: pro-hero Mt. Lady has been rushed by ambulance to Jikei Hospital! Clinically dead for half a minute, she responded to treatment from EMTs and will likely pull through. It seems tonight the nation is left with prayers for this rookie hero, though mercifully only prayers for a swift recovery. We're now cutting to footage of her stand against the Fullmoon Titan."_

Thundering booms echoed from the television. The rumble of falling rubble. Screaming. And in an instant Izuku was back on the freezing subway rails, All Might newly dead, clawing for survival to a symphony of screams and wails. Ice shot through his veins; the sour retch of bile flooded his mouth.

"Turn it off."

"Izuku –"

_"Turn it off."_ His voice cracked.

The TV fell silent. Inko set down the remote, green eyes studying him with worry. "I'm sorry. I didn't think someone we knew would ..."

Izuku shut his eyes, trying to slow the thudding of his heart. He gripped his mug of matcha tea. Breathing in its curling steam anchored him to reality. Subway trains couldn't harm him – not with his wards – and Yu still breathed. He was panicking over nothing.

"Not even a week since her debut and Mt. Lady's already suffered clinical death," his mom murmured. "So many awful reports and bloodied hero corpses on TV."

"The crime rate won't keep rising forever. Theoretically we're seeing the worst right now." Izuku swallowed. "I don't want you worrying about it, Mom."

Inko sighed. "Moms are meant to worry. I take it All Might's death hasn't altered your dream?"

"I ..." He averted his eyes from her, staring instead at shadows flickering in the candlelight. "I know this isn't what you want to hear, but I won't let my dreams die with him."

"Oh Izuku." His mom closed her eyes and whispered a prayer. "I hope you understand how scared I am of losing a husband and a son. Is it worth it to be accepted into one of the middling hero academies like Ketsubutsu or Seijin?"

"You don't believe I can get accepted into UA? Or even Shiketsu?"

"Do you?"

Izuku flinched, glad the darkness hid his expression. "I don't know," he whispered. "I was hoping you'd tell me I was good enough."

For as long as Izuku could remember, he'd believed UA would be within reach if only he had a Quirk. Yet still somehow the sum of his efforts felt too small, too hollow. His field research on pro-heroes, his new Quirk training, the blood and tears he'd shed to achieve national test scores in the 99th percentile ... none of it could convince him he was a serious hero candidate.

He remembered the half-smile on his dad's lips as he smoked a cigarette in the April rain, shooed to the porch by Inko. "You can be a hero same as those other kids, Tiger," he'd said. "Don't forget you're smarter than the lot of them." And then he strolled off to his business dinner, a nonchalant grey-suited ghost, the orange glow of his cigarette the last to vanish in the downpour.

Six years had elapsed since that night but still Izuku remembered every detail of their final conversation in the rain, fallen cherry blossom petals drifting like tiny boats in the puddles. He ached to return to that moment and cling to his dad's leg, refusing to let him go.

It was the last time someone had said to him, _You can do it_ instead of _Give up_.

Izuku sighed, shaking his head. "Guess that was stupid for me to say. Dad was the only person that ever thought I was UA material."

"Izuku ..." His mom sagged in her chair, cradling her head in her hands. She looked old suddenly. Old and weary and broken. Izuku felt a pang of guilt.

He stared into the winking candlelight while he sipped his matcha, thoughts troubled, waiting for his mom to say something. But the silence only thickened. Minutes ticked into oblivion and his tea went cold. The words he wanted to say died on his lips.

"I ... need to go check for updates on Yu," he said finally.

He slipped into the darkness. Cast a last lingering glance at his hunched mother. She'd started crying again these past few nights, sobs carrying down the hallway long past midnight, and he hated that all he knew to do was pretend he never heard. He shut himself in the cold of his bedroom, chest tight with grim emotion.

His bedroom was draftier than it once was – stripped of its All Might posters and figurines and strewn star-spangled t-shirts. Izuku wrapped himself in a blanket and huddled on his bed. He wondered how long misery would dwell inside him like a soul-sucking parasite, stealing his sleep and turning food to ash. Heroes sometimes lost; invincible men could turn up as bloated corpses and valiant women could be dragged into ambulances half-dead. Izuku understood that now. But no matter how his blood turned to ice when he read the rumors that All Might's killer still lurked in the shadows, no matter how he sometimes had nightmares of his mom leaving white lilies at his tombstone, he was more terrified of remaining helpless as Japan slowly crumbled around him.

He scrolled through the hero forums on his cell phone, squinting at its blinding glow. No updates on Yu's condition. It seemed most hero fans were only now learning of her debut, commenting with stunned and sympathetic reactions to the battle footage of Mt. Lady vs. the Fullmoon Titan. She didn't have a fansite yet like the other pro-heroes either – only an agency address for mail and deliveries.

His eyes strayed to the silver-glossed card on his nightstand. Remembered Yu slipping it to him at the hospital, and the smeared note jotted within: _Take care of yourself, Midoriya. Today was hard but I'm glad I got to spend it with another All Might fan. _

Izuku swallowed. Imagined Yu lying unconscious in a hospital bed, eyes lidded shut and respirator rasping as she breathed. How long did it take to recover from thirty seconds of clinical death? Would she remember her seemingly final moments bleeding out on the asphalt, EMTs crowding and shouting as her brain shut down? He shuddered to think of it.

He ripped a sheet of unlined paper from a notebook – he had dozens stacked beside the floor of his bed – and considered what to write. Myriads of possibilities flitted through his mind before he scrawled a message of his own:

_Yu,_

_It was nightmarish to see you on the news tonight; I really thought for a moment you were dead. I know more than a few great heroes have lost their lives in the wake of All Might's death, but after him I think knowing you were dead would be the worst. If you're right that All Might's killer still lives, he's far past the point of redemption – I don't think there can be justice in this world until he's gone from it.  
_

_I'm working on mastering my Quirk now. The tentative name is Aether Ward and it lets me control telekinetic barriers. I'd like to use it to defend people like you did tonight, but I don't know if I can honestly compete with kids like my neighbor that have had powerful Quirks their whole lives.  
_

_Try to get some rest if you can.  
_

_– Midoriya _

It was a little note, lonely on the whiteness of the page. Yet there was no guarantee Yu would read a complete letter. Izuku frowned at the volume of white space left and decided to sketch a little cartoon of Silver Age All Might to compensate. For a time he detailed and shaded while snowflakes tumbled beyond his window, the faint light of his desk lamp a golden glow against the storm that raged outside.

Then he reviewed the pages of Dr. Song's Quirk training textbook, and got to work.

* * *

_Author's Note: Sorry if that was overly depressing. It was an excruciating experience to write, but if I treated All Might's death lightly, that would be doing a disservice to the massive importance his character had in canon ___– on both a national level, and an interpersonal one.  
__

__And while I'm a strict believer in making sure all important story elements are conveyed in the chapters rather than my end notes, I'll clarify Izuku's Quirk a bit here for those of you too curious to find out over the next few chapters: __

__Yes, when they say "unbreakable" wards, they do literally mean that absolutely nothing can destroy them. Izuku's Quirk training won't be focused on strengthening his wards, but rather developing the skill and stamina to wield them without passing out mid-battle from oxygen deprivation. There's also the telekinetic component that he hasn't really explored yet. __

__I get the feeling I'm going to get both people who say his Quirk is weak, and people who say it's OP. It's meant to be a powerful Quirk, yes, but also uniquely one where it'll take a clever character like Izuku to maximize its potential. __

__But there's more than his Quirk that's been developed in this chapter, and I'd love to hear your thoughts. Grief leads to further division among Izuku and Bakugo rather than reconciliation; Mt. Lady sneaks her way back into the plot (______and to be super clear, this is not and never will be an Izuku/Yu story); the world reacts to the loss of the Symbol of Peace. ____

____And before I leave you for next time, I'd like to give a shout out to the Traveler fans that have clearly been reading this story, haha. You guys have good taste. ____


	3. Eulogium

_Relevant Terms:_

_Wagashi_ – sweet confections traditionally served with green tea. Often beautiful and intricate in design.

_Karoshi _– death by overwork. Not uncommon in Japanese corporate culture.

_Hikikomori – _reclusive youth who seek extreme isolation, withdrawing from school and social interaction.

_CRC_ _– _stands for Creature Rejection Clan. Canon background villains in the manga.

* * *

Chapter Three: Eulogium

* * *

The sky was a breathless, frosty blue the morning All Might was to be buried.

Izuku stared up at the crystal cold heavens, eyes watering in the winter sunlight, as he waited for a crosswalk signal. The blizzards had finally ceased, and with it the funeral dawned upon him. He wiped his eyes and walked across the snow-coated street. His All Might scarf, striped red-blue-gold, fluttered in the breeze.

The melody of _Burnin' Xmas_ drifted from a wagashi café as Izuku walked past. He faintly realized it was almost Christmas. Amid sleepless nights of studying and grim headlines on the news, he'd forgotten.

He shoved his hands in his coat pockets and lost himself in quiet thought on his way to the National Hero Cemetery.

Street traffic moved sluggishly – Izuku's slow amble left dozens of taxis and buses and weathered sedans in his wake. The Japanese flag hung bedraggled at half-mast from street poles and awnings, and the face of All Might was everywhere. Murals of him iconically carrying men on his back out of an inferno, or surrounded by famous heroes that gazed upon him while he vanished into golden light.

His face stared out at the populace, smiling. Even the crudest murals of the hero drew Izuku's eye. Small shrines were scattered before them – All Might's photograph wreathed by flickering candles and chrysanthemums. Mourners gathered before the shrines, making motions of respect as if he were a dear loved one or kami, but bigger.

All Might's influence seemed to touch every street. Snow shovelers and delivery men had golden ribbons tied on their wrists, and mourners dressed in dark save for their own ribbons were everywhere. On the street corners and in the parks. Crowding sidewalks as they knelt and murmured beside candles.

Izuku forced himself to breathe deeply. Exhaled clouds of frost. Despite the tears and solemn murmurs of those he passed, he felt calm. The kind of fragile composure that settles over someone after their last shaking sobs are drained from them.

Police SUVs had cordoned off the gates of the National Hero Cemetery. A silent mass of wide-eyed children and somber office workers and tearful elders filled the street, some with heads bowed in prayer and others gazing upon the snow-dusted cemetery through its iron wrought fence. Izuku counted hundreds of mourners at the gates, but if he tallied all those he'd seen locked in traffic and kneeling at candlelit shrines and gathered upon apartment balconies ... it made his head spin.

He turned on Eiyuu street, brushing through the eerily hushed crowd as he walked parallel to the iron wrought fence. For blocks he listened to murmured prayers – "... blessed by all the buddhas and bodhisattvas of the ten directions ...", "Gone, gone to the farther shore ..." – and the crunch of ice beneath his boots. Then he ducked beneath snow-laden branches onto a trail hidden by a thicket of birches and winter whiteness. Hiked up the hillside trail until he arrived in a children's park. The swing sets and slides with their bright blue paint were empty, creaking in the faint breeze.

He and Bakugo used to come to this park as little kids.

Izuku frowned and shook his head, refusing to dwell on that old ache. He couldn't lose himself to bitterness if he wanted to stand tall among the heroes inheriting All Might's legacy. Instead, he settled his attention on the park's swooping overlook of the cemetery. Rows and rows of tiny gravestones on a white lawn.

Brushing the snow off one of the swings, Izuku slipped into its seat. The swing rocked gently beneath his weight and he closed his eyes for a moment. Memories flashed beneath them. The bright laughter of his mother as she whirled him about in an All Might onesie. The All Might interviews he'd watch on the subway to steel himself before school days of Quirkless jokes and burnt-up homework. The summer evenings he'd spent on the porch with his dad, the dark-haired man sipping rice beer and regarding Izuku with serious eyes as they debated the meaning of true heroism – and whether All Might's philosophy could be improved. The friends he'd met on All Might fan forums, who knew him as _Kazuya893_ rather than Izuku Midoriya, yet still cheered him up more than anyone else in the dark days after his dad's disappearance.

He wouldn't be saying farewell to only All Might this morning. He'd be saying farewell to a chapter of his own life too.

Izuku swallowed. Stared down at the cemetery, at the temple of dark cypress that stood somber behind hundreds of graves. Snow blanketed its sharp, high roofs in white, and icicles glimmered from the filigreed ornamentation. The funeral service would be unfolding within the temple, a formal ceremony that followed the familial wake. All Might had always been a private man, with a clouded civilian life, and his funeral reflected that; invitations had been sent to only fifty friends and colleagues. Nonetheless, the main eulogy would be broadcast live to the public at ten o'clock.

Izuku's phone displayed 9:58. He plugged in his headphones and settled back to listen.

And as dove shadows huddled on the telephone lines overhead, and snow glittered beneath the vast blue sky, it began:

_"To former sidekicks Sir Nighteye and Mr. Shield, to fellow heroes Endeavor and Best Jeanist and Hawks as well as many more, to old mentors including Gran Torino and Recovery Girl, and to the millions of Japanese citizens that All Might would have died every day to protect. We come to celebrate not just an extraordinary hero, but an extraordinary man. A man whose good heart – not his bloodline or riches – defined an entire generation ..."_

–O–

_"Most of you do not know who I am, nor would I expect you to know. My name is Naomasa Tsukauchi, and I'm not a hero. I'm just a police detective lucky enough to have called All Might a friend. I wish I could tell you I'd been enough to save him, but in lieu of that I stand before you to deliver my final favor to the greatest hero I've ever known ..."_

Shouto Todoroki stared into the bathroom mirror. His hands gripped the edge of the sink, and he choked back bile as he tried not to throw up in front of his sister.

Fuyumi hovered over his shoulder – ignoring a puzzled glance from Yoroi Musha as he walked into a stall – her black silk dress matching Shouto's own dark suit. The florescent lights deepened the bags beneath both their eyes, a chronic weariness that all the Italian ties and cosmetic concealer and rinzu silk in the world couldn't disguise.

Detective Tsukauchi's voice echoed into the bathroom from the temple's main hall:

_"... was more than a profession to him. It was an expression of what he cherished most in humanity – the willingness to fight for those we'll never know. He didn't see it as a celebration of popularity or powerful Quirks ..."_

Shouto grit his teeth. Tried uselessly to control his trembling. He tore his gaze from the mirror, hate burning through him at his reflection. His father's perfect genetic creation, his tool in a thirty year campaign to usurp All Might, and yet here he was ... lovingly welcomed to the funeral like he wasn't an enemy.

All Might didn't have surviving kin here, no, he had them. The family which would have gutted his legacy if a villain hadn't done it first. It was the crowning flourish to a sick reality that snuffed out every candle in the dark Shouto had known.

"Are you okay? Do I need to take you back to the house?" Fuyumi asked, blue eyes worried. "You need more rest than Dad realizes."

Shouto twisted the sink's spigot and splashed water on his face. It didn't help; what nauseated him couldn't be washed away. "Stay out of it. The old man doesn't give a damn about your opinion."

"Still ..." Fuyumi bit her lip, casting a nervous glance at Yoroi Musha's stall as the toilet flushed. Waited for the white-bearded hero to wash his hands and exit the bathroom before whispering: "I can't just stand here and do nothing while you're hurting, Shouto. And the – the short-sighted idiocy of pulling you out of school to train! You'll collapse if Dad keeps this up. _Dad_ will collapse if he keeps this up."

He exhaled slowly. Blew on the strand of red hair fringing his eyes. Endeavor had been training him to become Japan's #1 hero for as long as he could remember, but before All Might's death that future always seemed a distant dream. Now it was terrifyingly real. The extreme Quirk drills that left him vomiting in the toilet each night, the whispers and stares from strangers whenever he went on jogs, the old man's obsessive, scream-fueled self workouts ...

"The funeral's just been getting to me. Nothing you can do about that."

Fuyumi sighed. "You always did like All Might when you were little. I ... think I can understand. Promise you'll tell me if something worse is wrong through, okay?"

_So you can keep crying when the old man ignores you? When I'm slurring sentences from hypothermia and can't tell who you are?_

His hesitance must have betrayed his thoughts, because his sister's face fell. "I know I can't help you in any meaningful way, I'm not blind. I just don't want you to end up like Mom or Touya." She lowered her eyes, white hair sweeping forward to conceal her expression. "Ever since All Might died ... Dad's scared me a little."

"He's not going to permanently damage his legacy-in-the-making." Shouto scowled. "The old man is number one now anyway. He won't have time to screw with me much longer."

"The silver lining to this whole mess, huh?" Fuyumi's lips quirked into a sad smile. She rifled through her velvet black purse until she found a paper bag. Tossed it to him.

He caught it with a startled blink.

"It's a pork bun. I know you didn't have breakfast this morning because Dad didn't want you getting crumbs on your suit," she said. "Don't eat it where someone could see, obviously, but if you feel nauseous later it may help to have something in your stomach."

Shouto tucked the bag in his suit jacket's inner pocket. "... Thanks."

"Ready to get back to Natsu and Dad?"

Shouto took a deep breath, tapping into his well of cold hatred. His eyes hardened. His face went blank. He still felt clammy, still felt sickened at the thought of playing perfect son in front of All Might's closest comrades, but he'd long since mastered self-control under Endeavor's discipline.

"I'm not ready," he said. "But I've dealt with worse."

Fuyumi nodded as she held open the bathroom door. "Just remember that despite what Dad says, the future of Japan isn't all on your shoulders."

Shouto clenched his fists and stared down at wooden floor of the temple, stifling his doubts. Then he stepped out to face a congregation of men and women that had collectively saved millions of lives, cherished mentors and old friends and noble heroes, and the coffin of a man that deserved better than to have Enji and Shouto Todoroki at his funeral.

_"... All Might had no family and few friends, yet it is our common grief for him that binds us to one another, not out of neediness or pity, but as human beings ..."_

–O–

_"... Human beings who must learn to turn our common suffering into hope for the future ..."_

Yu Takeyama listened to the radio with glazed eyes, high on painkillers.

A nurse leaned over her, hand gentle on her brow. She murmured numbers to a blue-skinned aide with a clipboard, though Yu was used to their presence enough to ignore the sporadic mentions of "37 C" and "18 BRPM." Winter sunlight filtered through the hospital window, and Yu struggled to keep her eyes from slipping shut in the golden glow.

The days here passed in hazy flux; sometimes fast, sometimes slow. Faster when Yu slept or the nurses handed her Prazosin pills and a little paper cup of water to help swallow them down – staving off her recurrent nightmares of convulsing on the pavement while EMTs shouted words at her she couldn't understand. Slower when the painkillers stopped pumping through her, or worked too well and left her with long silences of nothing to do but stare at the ceiling and think.

She'd been clinically dead.

Yu didn't know how to deal with that, so instead, she tried not to think about it. But her mind wandered. The nurses were no company, and the only books were from the children's wing of the hospital. Her mom and dad were eight hours away in Sapporo, stuck up north after a villain had destroyed the shinkansen rail lines.

Sometimes, her manager visited with financial updates or mail that had been delivered to their agency. Mt. Lady's popularity had received an uptick from the Fullmoon Titan incident, but the hospital room was decorated with "Get Well Soon!" cards and purple irises from friends rather than fans. Fanmail was so far limited to three grateful letters from Fullmoon Titan survivors and a card from the Midoriya kid.

Huh. The nurses were gone now. She hadn't noticed them leave.

Yu pushed herself upright in bed with a grimace, careful not to yank at the IV needle taped to her wrist. She tucked a loose lock of platinum hair behind her ear and picked up one of the cards on her nightstand. A sketch of All Might in his Silver Age costume – skintight suit and billowing blue cape – grinned at her from the cover.

_"... and he continues to inspire generations of heroes even now, which may, in time, become his greatest legacy of all ..."_

This All Might card, Midoriya's card, was the only fanmail left for which she hadn't written a response. If she was being honest with herself, she felt like an imposter of a hero every time she tried.

Yu knew she wasn't the selfless hero type. Raised amid the rice paddies and dusty roads of the Hokkaido countryside, she'd watched the older kids from her schoolhouse leave one-by-one to work at gas stations or farms and swore that would never be her. She'd buy All Might magazines at the local drugstore, daydreaming of becoming someone that _mattered_ like him, rather than destined to die in the same village she was born.

And so it was that she arrived at UA with dreams of stardom. She thought she'd been prepared for the price, had followed hero blogs about the downsides of being a pro – of holding the hand of a dying grandmother amid ground zero dust and rubble, of facing off against hardened villains and wild-eyed madmen, of paparazzi stalking her in the grocery store and ex-boyfriends penning dirty exposés. But she never expected to attract the worst devotees and detractors the hero fandom had to offer.

It had only taken the Sports Festival for the eyes of millions to fixate upon Yu, and one bad interview afterward to become a walking controversy. She often replayed that memory while lying in bed at night too wired on cappuccino to sleep, aching for a time manipulation Quirk so she could go back and shut seventeen year old Yu's mouth. _"I want to be popular like All Might! Love you, Tokyo!"_

Yu shook her head, an ironic twist to her lips. She'd certainly become a popular topic among the most obsessive hero fans, but not in the way she dreamed. The ero dōjinshi and Rule 34 crowds got off to her Sports Festival photos, and the purist wing of the All Might fandom downvoted any image or footage of her online – it had been that way since she was seventeen. All Might had millions of fans, and a decent percentage of them were complete cancer.

It was shitty, but people were shitty.

If Yu had been as optimistic as All Might or Ryukyu or even Yoroi Musha, she would have bowed her head and played perfect sidekick to purify her reputation. Not double down on the coquettish and bubbly Mt. Lady personality whenever a camera lens was trained on her. Not shamelessly cater to the ecchi crowds, or in the weeks prior to her emergency debut schedule more photo shoots than street patrols. Yet she'd only ever given her parents a cynical eye-roll when they told her as much.

Why try when she'd just be branded as a fame whore regardless? She'd never stand equal to the expectations All Might had set for pro-heroes.

But now All Might was dead and she'd died herself trying to save people and a kid she'd comforted in the hospital saw her as a honest-to-God, admirable hero. She wasn't sure whether to laugh or cry.

Yu opened the card and read it again, tracing her fingers across the careful kanji and katakana of Midoriya's penmanship. _"I'm working on mastering my Quirk now. I'd like to use it to defend people like you did tonight, but I honestly don't know if I can compete with people like my neighbor that have had powerful Quirks their whole lives."_

She still lacked the words to respond, lost at the notion of feigning that comforting confidence All Might was once so good at. Nothing she could write would matter amidst the dark disquiet of the Fallen Age, would it?

_Maybe that's the point. Maybe words aren't what Midoriya needs._

Yu bit her lip, considering. If not a letter, then –

The blue-skinned aide from earlier walked by in the hall as inspiration sparked in Yu's mind. She straightened, waving with her non-IV hand to catch the aide's eye. "Excuse me? I'd like to call my manager – I just thought of something I need him to drop off for me."

She'd never be there for millions as All Might had, but ... maybe someday she could become the hero Midoriya and the Fullmoon Titan survivors believed in.

_"... I used to look at All Might with envy: he was one of the legendary few with the power of changing history ..."_

–O–

_"... But with time I began to understand the unimaginable price such a privilege demands. No sane individual would crave to bear the fate of countless schoolkids and neighbors and newlyweds ..."_

The Osaka skyline glittered beneath the winter sky, a beautiful sight made perfect by the fresh tang of blood on Himiko Toga's lips.

She breathed deep, taking in the scents of snow and gasoline and curry rice from the hole-in-the-wall café across the street. Her legs dangled out over an eight meter plunge as she perched on the edge of a rooftop. Down below, the dark waters of the Dōtonbori Canal lapped at skyscrapers and high-rises. Illuminated signboards broadcasted the eulogy for that boring hero – she scrunched her nose as she failed to remember his blood type, but whatever. He was dead. The Tempozan Ferris Wheel rose in the distance, silent and still.

And a shivering man rested his head on her thigh, knife pressed against his throat.

He panted heavily, staring up at her with pupils blown in panic. Slashes crisscrossed him from her earlier love nicks, blood dripping in rivulets down his arms and soaking the snow with pretty speckles. The contents of his shopping bag were strewn in the snowdrifts from when she'd ambushed him taking a lone smoke on the rooftop. Jewelry boxes and candy canes. A green, stuffed apatosaurus which had landed sideways and now watched them with cartoony eyes. Christmas presents.

Himiko tilted her head and smiled down at the man. Her teeth were stained red. "Your freckles are cute."

He shuddered, revulsion shadowing his boyish face. Whispered words so soft not a soul could hear.

"Hmm?" She leaned forward, eclipsing him in her shadow. "What did you want to tell me? Is it that you think I'm cute too?"

His mouth opened then shut again. Teary eyes darted to the knife glinting at his neck.

She giggled. "Oh, I get it. Smart to want to keep me happy. But I'll let you in on a little secret since you're so special to me: nothing you say matters. You see, you're already good as dead."

"... psychotic _bitch_."

Himiko dug the knife deeper into his flesh, drawing a trickle of blood. It was tantalizingly red amid the winter white. She raised the knife to her lips and licked the blood off with her tongue. Her lips curled upwards.

"I was called that in middle school too. We can't help who we are."

Swearing at her seemed to have drained the man; he sniffled but said nothing more. Himiko blinked up at the frost blue sky, kicking her legs in the air. The eulogy echoed up from the illuminated signboards. Pretty platitudes from a detective who sounded like he was as close to tears as the dying man in her lap.

Why was the world losing its collective mind over All Might anyway? She didn't get it. He'd been the #1 hero for decades – nearly twice the time she'd been alive. Japan should be glad he was gone, glad new heroes could now blossom free from the stagnancy All Might had hooked them on.

He was stupid to call himself the Symbol of Peace when he bled just like any mortal. Deserved what he got.

_"... yet I never once heard All Might regret the burdens he carried or the sacrifices he made. He understood that the world needed someone to believe in ..."_

Boring. Himiko tuned the eulogy out, picking up the stuffed apatosaurus with its stubby legs and big black eyes. "How adorable," she cooed at it. "I think I'll keep you."

"That's for my little brother," the man said weakly. His voice sounded strangely distant, as if he was adrift in a haze of pain. "Did ... did all this happen because the Symbol of Peace is dead? Killers now roaming the streets ..."

"Don't be a dumdum. I killed while your so-called symbol was alive too."

The man continued as if he hadn't heard her. "I should have agreed with Hinata and moved us to the countryside as soon as I heard whispers his killers were still out there. But I didn't want to take a pay cut by leaving NKT for some local network. I'm a fool ..." He let out a breathy laugh. "Though I guess I won't be for much longer."

Himiko frowned, the blood she was licking off her fingers suddenly tasting sour. No bigger buzzkill than hearing your mark praise other killers. Sleeping on the streets, running from the blue-and-red strobe of police cars, constantly wearing others' skins ... blood was one of the few pleasures left to her. She could only truly relax these days while reveling in the sweet taste of hemoglobin and erythrocytes. And somehow All Might had ruined it for her more perfectly from the grave than he ever had in life.

"What's so special about these killers anyway?" She narrowed predatory eyes at the man, momentarily more interested in his words than the hot gush of blood that would dribble down her throat if she bit into his wounds. "They could just be super lucky."

"No, no, no ... can't be. No one's taken credit, you see? A ton of villains always try taking credit for newsworthy hero deaths, even if it's all lies that set every cop in the nation on their trail. But this time there's only silence. Never seen ... never seen its like."

Himiko stiffened. The delirious idiot actually had a decent point. She'd haunted her share of condemned buildings during her time on the run, the kind that reeked of urine and bred mad graffiti and crawled with lowlifes who put even her teeth on edge. It taught her how much petty villains loved to swagger and crow about their deeds. There wasn't a billboard chart for villains, but there was an informal hierarchy, and many would take credit for All Might's death to claw themselves to the top. If none dared, only one thing could be holding their tongues.

Fear.

She inhaled slowly, thinking. Killers who could command such fear in the hearts of others ... oh, how much she wished to be like them. Then she could know the taste of true freedom. No karoshi and confinement to a cubicle, but no sleeping in drug dens and dodging the police either. The fear possessed by All Might's killers could give her the freedom to go on dates with cuties, or indulge in bloodletting sprees without having to flee from city to city. If only she could steal their power for her own.

Himiko's eyes suddenly widened. She felt her heart skip a beat. What if All Might's killers were themselves cuties? What if they_ liked_ her?

"Tell me," she said. "Where was All Might killed?"

"Roppongi. Why are you –"

One quick slash and he was gone, blood spraying from his throat and splattering the snow. It splattered Himiko too, and she grinned ferally. Blood glinted off her sharpened teeth.

"I'll go see if those killers are as special as you say. If you're lucky the police will find you before it snows again, but don't count on it!"

She sheathed her knife, tucked the apatosaurus with its big black eyes under her arm, and vaulted off the rooftop onto a dumpster in the alley below, leaving the dead man to his gurgling and twitching.

Even the alley was overflowing with holiday shoppers this close to Christmastime. Crowds of mothers with shiny red gift bags and kids swaddled in scarves. Office men on their smoke break sharing a cigarette in the shadows of the alley. All around her, Osaka seethed with those who survived after the death of their savior. Himiko pulled up her hood and wiped the blood off her coat. Seconds later she was swallowed by the crowd.

Society was changing. Its heart had been cut out and those left now had a choice: seek a new way to survive or die defending a corpse. Scores of the villain old guard would succumb to the latter. But she wouldn't be among them.

Himiko ran for the subway station, darting past eulogizing signboards and Christmas lights glowing gold. And for the first time in ages, she felt free.

_"... I cannot truthfully tell you All Might was always smiling. Being more symbol than man takes its toll. I can tell you that I'm certain he died with few regrets, that he lived as he loved until his last breath ..."_

–O–

_"... This brings me to a point I wish I didn't have to address. All Might should never have died this winter. He should never have died at the hands of a monster, and I ... I don't know what to do with all the grief and rage I feel at the injustice of a world that could do this to my friend ..."_

Metallic strikes of sword against sword rang through the basement. Tomura Shigaraki stared rapt at the television screen, fingers dancing on his game controller, as he guided a samurai through battle amidst moonlit red spider lilies. His face was shadowed in the flickering light of the screen.

The samurai staggered and fell into the spider lilies, an arrow depleting the final sliver of his health bar. Tomura scowled and turned away from the game; his samurai perished quickly beneath a stylized "YOU DIED." He locked his sullen gaze upon Kurogiri on the couch behind him.

"Turn your damn radio off. I can't concentrate listening to that soppy garbage."

His bodyguard sipped at a Turkish coffee, unperturbed. Steam wafted from the mug wrapped in his dark, misty hands. "Your sensei would be pleased if you paid more respect to his victory, Tomura Shigaraki. All Might's death will have major implications for Japan and your ascendancy in it."

Tomura snorted, turning back to the screen as his samurai loaded into the meadow of red lilies once more. "So what? All Might's death was _mine_. The crown that would king me. And he just took it. I guess he doesn't give a shit about making me his successor at the end of the day."

"That's not true, Tomura Shigaraki."

He ignored Kurogiri. The man had little personality left of his own after his loyalty conditioning – no surprise that he'd always take Sensei's side. Tomura twitched with irritation at the prickle of eyes on the back of his neck, gritting his teeth to focus on the one-man war his samurai was waging. Petals danced on the wind as he decapitated an enemy Mongol and whirled about to face another three.

Kurogiri watched and said, "There's an archer crouching in the grass."

"I know."

He dealt with the three foot soldiers first, playing it off like he'd spotted the archer on his own. Once he'd drenched the spider lilies in Mongol blood, it was pathetically easy to stab the archer through the heart with his katana. A smile crept upon Tomura's lips as his samurai stood alone amid moonlit corpses. Anyone who said he backed down from a challenge was a lying bastard.

_"... was never fearful of what he was doing when it was necessary. I remember the stories he'd tell of facing the most formidable villains Japan has known ..." _

Screw Kurogiri and the black hole where his emotions should've been for forcing him to listen to this hero-worshipping garbage. The only half-decent thing All Might had ever accomplished was his branded line of toilet paper; least then Tomura got to wipe his ass with him.

He scratched his neck with a scowl. "I could've killed All Might myself. Yet Sensei continues to sideline me instead of trusting my judgment."

"That's incorrect." Kurogiri regarded him with glowing eye pits. "The army he's creating for you is proof of his trust."

"_Right_. The army I've waited for since I was a child. I'll believe it when I've got monsters with bulging muscles at my beck and call. Till then it's just a pretty theory that does nothing for me."

Tomura knew his temper was flaring. Knew Sensei had ironclad justifications for the half-century he'd poured into the Nomu Project. The man thought on the scale of generations. He wouldn't hasten his spiderweb schemes merely to please Tomura.

Nonetheless, it rankled to wait here in the shadows of society. Reading through Machiavelli and Morgenthau. Training in hand-to-hand combat with Kurogiri. Binging video games because Sensei said he was too important to mingle with the feeble-minded NPCs at bars or Comiket. It was a grey existence compared to his dreams of crumbling cities to ash, of a golden dawn rising over the remains of skyscrapers and freeways and caped heroes.

"Perhaps it would rouse your spirits to see how far the nomu experiments have advanced? I believe you haven't visited the Deepground Laboratory since you were a child," Kurogiri said.

Tomura frowned. Glanced at the television screen and his samurai roaming a foggy cemetery. "Guess it couldn't hurt."

It only took a second of concentration for Kurogiri to summon one of his warp gates. Shadows shifted and twisted at its miasmic core, beckoning them within. Tomura didn't hesitate as he got up and stepped through the gate. Kurogiri followed.

They stepped out into cavernous darkness.

Tomura would have been blind were it not for the glow of Kurogiri's eye pits. He found the generator and pulled the switches. Florescent bulbs flickered, buzzing as electricity flooded their cold wires. Most lights in the laboratory were shuttered to keep the nomu from freaking, but it was enough to illuminate the catwalks.

Kurogiri blinked. "It's ... bigger than I remembered."

A fortress of engineering. Pipes snaked through the blackness, stretching from floor to ceiling in the eerie half-light of the florescents, a labyrinth of steel and hissing vents that swallowed up the hulking shadows of the nomu tanks.

The tanks loomed all around them. Tomura estimated there were hundreds spanning the darkness, rows upon rows of cadavers floating within murky fluid. Water jewels dripped off their window glass from the coolant systems; pentagonal bolts studded their steel plating and fastened them to the network of pipes. The tanks thrummed with power. Sensei's perfect instruments. Built to slave beneath the city, carving an army out of warm flesh.

Tomura surveyed his immediate vicinity. He drifted from tank to tank, noting the coded designations painted slap-dash on each one: WL-432, BH-001, PK-544. The Nomu Project had truly thrived since he was a child. Back then it'd seemed only a single class of nomu was in development.

Kurogiri slunk behind him. Hesitant.

"How long until the nomu can be reliably mass-produced?" Tomura asked, his voice echoing strangely as he tapped on the glass of a tank labelled WL-186. The nomu shadow inside didn't stir.

"A year and a half?" Kurogiri said. "I can't give reliable answers myself, I'm afraid."

"Not too long until the new Symbol arises then ... and I won't be one of peace. What do you think of that, Kurogiri?"

Tomura's eyes gleamed with malice. Half in shadow and half in light, he stood surrounded by hundreds of nomu tanks. Fifty years worth of human experiments not to cure cancer or treat mental illness, but to wreak mass carnage in his name. He walked a path of destruction, and if he dared follow it to the end ...

"You'll have to live with your choices, Tomura Shigaraki. Someday your followers will as well. Someday, the whole world."

_"... It's a somber truth that our society is vulnerable without the man that stood as our symbol ..."  
_

–O–

_" ... and his justice will only prevail if we continue to struggle in the face of defeat ..." _

Twenty minutes into Naomasa Tsukauchi's eulogy, the Asui family huddled in blankets before a television, quiet save for the teary sniffles of children. The Christmas tree Tsuyu had decorated yesterday shimmered in the soft morning light, golden baubles and origami swans and cranberry garlands which left her nostalgic for the winters when she'd been as young as Samidare and Satsuki. Her pet pixie frog – affectionately dubbed Mido – hopped among the tinsel wrapped gifts.

Staring wide-eyed at the television, Samidare and Satsuki clung to her sleeves, a pair of kids with slow dawning fear in their expressions. Tsuyu felt an inexplicable pang of guilt as she remembered reading them fairy-tales and superhero comics as bedtime stories. Had she left them utterly unprepared for the realities of this world? It made her heart ache to think of it. She hugged Satsuki close and ruffled Samidare's hair.

She hadn't seen such shadows on her family's faces since her hikikomori days. Since she'd locked the world out and hunched in the darkness of her room.

Her father was pacing. He stood and went to the window shutters. Went back to the television. A minute later, he moved to the balcony to study the mourners gathered below. Tsuyu understood why. The air felt as if it was charged with lightning. A storm was coming, heavy with downpour and blood puddles.

All Might's death hadn't seemed real until violence started slowly closing in on her doorstep. Until a school bus at Samidare's elementary was held hostage, and her neighbors' door was defaced with a graffitied "BE GONE," and "BEASTS BELONG IN THE PEN, NOT AT THE TABLE." Only then she realized the vulnerability of what she held dear. How fragile Japan truly was without All Might's sunfire radiance hiding the cracks.

Tsuyu's favorite hero had always been Mirko – she was the only female pro consistently in the top ten, and her frank demeanor attracted Tsuyu too – but All Might was the sole celebrity hero she'd glimpsed in real life. She could never forget that night at Meitetsu Hospital, humming to herself on a bench in the rooftop garden, when the towering man descended from the clouds and landed on the roof's edge. She'd frozen among the sunflowers waving in the nighttide breeze, but he didn't seem to notice the little girl hidden in their shadows. All Might stared out at the Nagoya skyline instead, and in that quiet moment where only the rustle of sunflowers and wisteria could be heard, she'd seen the strain of loneliness on his hollow-eyed face. The way his great shoulders sagged as he was lost in memories she could only imagine.

For a time, she'd sat in shadowed communion with him – too timid to disturb his contemplation – till at last the spell was broken by an echoed shout. "Tsuyu? Where are you?"

Tsuyu remembered turning toward the stairwell, toward the silhouette of her father huffing from the climb up the stairs. Remembered wondering if his frog eyes would bulge upon finding the hero who'd spearheaded the CRC raids during his childhood. But they never had.

Instead he found Tsuyu standing alone on the roof's edge, looking for a hero who had vanished far beyond her reach.

_"... I pray All Might is finally somewhere his mortal troubles can no longer haunt him. I pray his rest is a peaceful one ..."_

Tsuyu sighed and stroked Satsuki's hair as Detective Naomasa neared the end of his eulogy. She often pondered the nature of what had weighed upon All Might that night, yet it seemed his secrets would be buried with him. If only she'd hugged him back then and whispered that he didn't always need to force a smile for his friends. He shouldn't have spent his final years struggling to bear the Symbol of Peace mantle on his own.

Satsuki and Samidare turned their eyes to her. The older sister who soothed their nightmares. The future pro-hero who watched over them at parks and hadn't yet disenchanted them of their childlike faith.

"Why did they hurt him?"

"Will you find his killers once you graduate from UA? Will you get revenge for him?"

She hesitated. If the rumors that All Might's killers still lurked were indeed true, they would be formidable beyond her dreams. What could a fresh UA graduate resolve that the nation's highest ranking pro-heroes could not? It wasn't her fight. She should gently dismiss Satsuki and Samidare's promise. Leave justice to those more extraordinary than a girl who knew all too well the tally of her flaws.

The sage decision. Yet not one she could bring herself to accept.

Tsuyu closed her eyes and in her mind she saw All Might: a hollow-eyed man alone in the moonlight, and the millions of glimmering city lights beyond from those that loved him yet were oblivious to his loneliness. She'd hate herself if she stood on the sidelines as Japan anointed a new savior to sacrifice. No solitary hero deserved to crumble beneath the weight of a nation.

"I'll find them." Tsuyu dipped her head. "I won't do it alone, but I swear I will. I intend to stand for something more than simply standing by."

She could never succeed All Might as the Symbol. But if she poured her blood and sweat into training, maybe she'd rise high enough to save those who otherwise would.

_"... Here, then, is my promise. Even if the morrow is barren of hope, I'll never forget those early mornings when we drank muddy coffee together while pouring over case files, or the pride shining in your eyes when we watched the Sports Festival at bars. And when I remember you, friend, I'll smile ..." _

–O–

_"... All Might's no longer here. I don't know where my friend is. But I do know it's our turn to be heroes, for him." _

Izuku hunched on the rusted swing and tugged off his headphones in the snowy silence of morning. His throat tightened at the finality of Detective Tsukauchi's farewell. Tears prickled behind his eyes, but he refused to cry while the sky was still bright and the robins kept singing.

He found it comforting, somehow, to have heard his own clouded emotions echoed in the eulogy. It thawed the sharp edges of his grief – still heavy in his chest but not the soul-crushing weight he'd come to accept as normal these past weeks. He felt as if he could truly taste the cinnamon incense in the breeze, revel in the sting of cold on his cheeks again.

He missed All Might. Always would. But he knew he could live without him.

_I'll do what I can to keep Japan safe, and I won't be the only one that steps up. Mt. Lady and me and even Bakugo ... Japan's in good hands. _

It didn't matter if Izuku wasn't yet qualified for acceptance into the elite hero courses. He'd jog in the parks each dawn and persevere through a diet regimen and fall asleep studying textbooks beneath the lamplight of his desk. Japan needed new heroes to serve as candles in the dark. Izuku would be one of them, even if it meant settling for UA General Studies or a minor hero school like Seiai Academy.

His fingers tightened around the chains of the swing. It would have tasted sweet to become a celebrity hero, or rank higher than Bakugo on the billboard charts ... but so long as he had a chance to save people it would be enough. He didn't know how long he sat, staring at the cemetery. Minutes. Hours.

Funeral guests in buttoned topcoats and fluttering scarves drifted out of the temple in huddles, clumping together with conversation, then waving farewells as they trudged to their cars or the train station. Izuku thought he could decipher a few faces despite the heroes' solemn winter garb – Nighteye weeping into the chest of a blond boy, Hawks leaning against the temple wall with a shadowed expression, Ryukyu tipping her head up to stare blankly at the sky.

Footsteps crunched faintly through the snow behind Izuku, shaking him from his thoughts. Someone else had discovered the deserted children's park. He glanced over his shoulder as a young man emerged from the copse of birches.

Hands in his coat pockets and snowflakes dusting his red hair, he strode to the cliff's edge to stare upon the cemetery. He must have known Izuku was there – they were close enough to speak without raised voices – but there was no acknowledgment. Izuku side-eyed the stranger. Dark topcoat with a crimson ascot peeking over the collar, and a face marred with a burn scar that destined him for a lifetime of sympathetic stares. His expression was cold but his eyes were far too bright, though with fury or grief Izuku could not tell.

Izuku swallowed. It wasn't hard to deduce that the scarred stranger must have fled from the funeral. A hero's child then – and based on the burn scar Izuku had his suspicions on whose blood ran in his veins.

_I'll just ... leave him alone. He doesn't look like he's in a friendly mood._

Naturally, it was at that moment his stomach grumbled, shattering the silence. The scarred stranger's gaze focused on him for the first time. Grey and blue eyes, glinting puzzlement.

Izuku winced under the scrutiny. He must look pathetic, what with his disheveled parka and snow-matted hair and bloodshot eyes. He averted eye contact with the scarred stranger to study the snowdrifts.

A shadow fell over him.

"Here." And then a paper bag was shoved into Izuku's hands.

The scarred stranger waited expectantly as Izuku stared at the bag. He'd stepped to the side so he was no longer eclipsing him in his shadow, but he didn't appear to be in a haste to leave. His cold expression gave nothing away.

_I hope this isn't heroin or ... a severed finger or something. _

Gingerly, Izuku opened the paper bag. Tucked inside was a pork bun. "_Oh._ Thank you, I hope you didn't feel obligated to give me this. It's just I skipped breakfast and it was a long walk to get here and I'm sorry if I disturbed you when you clearly wanted peace –" He cut himself off before the rambling worsened.

The scarred stranger shrugged. "You looked like you needed it." He paused, as if thinking his words over. "No offense."

Izuku took a bite into the bun, savoring the burst of warm dough and slow-roasted pork splashed with oyster sauce. His appetite for breakfast had been killed by the dread churning in his stomach this morning, and now even plain rice would taste like heaven.

He felt a little bolder with food in his stomach. Considered the scarred stranger thoughtfully. If he was the child of a hero like Izuku suspected, he'd know better than others what dreams were possible. His mom and Bakugo and Yamauchi-Sensei all scorned his desire to be a hero, yet Izuku prayed they were blinded by their biases. "Hey ... do you have a dream?"

The scarred stranger blinked. "No one's ever asked me that before." His eyes became far away, considering. "Yes. I have for a long time."

"I see."

Together the two of them fell silent. Church bells rang over the white city.

"That's all you're going to ask me?"

Izuku hesitated. "It's just – when you tell others about your dream, don't you wonder, 'But what if it doesn't happen for me?'"

"Sometimes," the scarred stranger said. "I also think people instinctively plan for their own failure in ways that kill the possibility of success. I'm not going to dwell on doubt."

"Even if no one believes in you?" Izuku asked. He fiddled with the All Might scarf wrapped around his neck.

The scarred stranger snorted. "Now that's just a motivator. Imagine their faces if you do it anyway."

Izuku envisioned his classmates' bulging eyes as they read "Shiketsu" or "UA" next to his name on the graduation rolls. He shook his head with a wistful sigh. "It's not that simple. I –"

"_SHOUTOOOO!_" His words were cut off by an echoed scream from the cemetery. Izuku flinched. Nearly dropped the last bite of his pork bun.

The scarred stranger grimaced. "I've got to get going." He turned to trudge through the snow-dappled woods without a farewell – as brusque a departure as his arrival. Yet as he reached the first line of birch trees, he halted. "Don't focus on how much those people don't believe in you. Focus on how much you believe in _them_."

Then he vanished into the birches. A trail of footprints the only trace Izuku hadn't been alone.

As Izuku journeyed back home, meandering past swathes of black-garbed mourners and a Christmas market that wafted scents of nutmeg and cider through the Musutafu streets, he wondered if impossibilities were really just proof of how make believe civilization was. Familiarity hid much, comforted people with the fiction that the way things were would inevitably last into the future. All Might was impossible before he'd made his debut all those decades ago; his sudden slaughter seemed equally impossible before December. Ask any of Izuku's classmates and they'd laugh at the suggestion he'd one day have a flashy Quirk. His life had changed beyond belief this winter – who could say what else awaited him?

_That stranger __is_ _right_, he thought._ I can't dwell on doubt. _

He arrived at his street. In the spring, the apartment would be veiled in the flowering pink of cherry blossom trees, but for now the sky seemed to stretch endlessly towards the horizon. He spotted his mom hanging a bird feeder from one of the trees; rose finches and sparrows hopped on the snow pecking at scattered seeds. She glanced his way and beamed. He waved back.

"Izuku! A letter arrived for you!"

"A letter?" He picked his way around the birds. Reached up to help latch the feeder on its hook.

His mom nodded and brandished a crisp envelope from her parka. "A man from Mt. Lady's agency came by to drop it off maybe ten minutes ago. I'm glad you returned in time for me to give it to you! I was just about to leave for the bakery to order our Christmas cake, and you know how those lines are."

Izuku stared breathless at the letter in his hands. He'd sent Yu a letter of his own, but he never imagined a hero would take the time to write him back.

"I'll be back soon," his mom said, then walked down the street, leaving a trail of footprints in the frosted snow.

_Midoriya. _In what must have been Yu's handwriting.

He turned the envelope over in his hands and slipped out a brochure. UA High School. Yu had highlighted the application due date: January 15th of next year.

Izuku knelt beneath the cherry blossom tree, snow slowly sinking beneath his weight. The rising sun caught the icicled branches and lit them into glittering crystal jewels. Tears pooled in his eyes.

* * *

_... And that concludes the Death Arc of this story. I hope it wasn't too bad to read perspectives outside of Izuku's, but I wanted to set more in motion than is possible using just him before we start fast-forwarding through a year next chapter. Worry not, though, this story will stick to Izuku's perspective for the most part. I don't know what I was thinking with this one __– "Hey Cordylion, why don't you write six POVs with characters you haven't introduced yet on top of a freaking eulogy of all things? It'll be easy!" I'm never doing that again. _

__Let me know which perspective was your favorite! It'll lessen the pain. __

_It's been nice to see Mt. Lady being a badass in the manga lately. Hopefully more of the minor characters I plan to give a relevancy upgrade will get some canon limelight. I want to see what makes Nejire Big Three material.  
_


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